


hounds at his heels

by 06seconds_left



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, not sure if this should be in the pairing tag or not sorry, the relationship is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/06seconds_left/pseuds/06seconds_left
Summary: He runs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just...testing the waters here...i'm sorry

In the end, it feels inevitable. After years of resisting, years of telling himself he can do one better, Goodnight downs his last shot for the night, and gives in.

He runs.

The quiet bustle of a restless town fades away as he rides, and if he were to turn, Rose Creek would be nothing more than a distant silhoutte in the dead of the night. All those desperate folks clinging on to their last dredges of hope, simple farmers , yet more courageous than Goodnight is now, than he ever was.

But that's alright. He tells himself it's alright. A coward has to live with the consequences of their actions.

The night is darker than he ever remembers it being, and every mile he gets only makes it worse. The sound of his galloping horse is too loud, but it's too quiet, out here in the plains by himself, and he only has himself to blame.

At least the devil has left him alone. For the first time in days, it's finally quiet enough for him to hear his own thoughts, and he's relieved--he should be relieved, every moment of respite is always one more than he expects to get, he should be _relieved,_  but his heart is still hammering, and the reins feel dangerously loose in his hands.

The hounds might have lost his trail momentarily, but they'll find him. They always find him.

In the meantime, all he can do is put as much distance between himself and the dead town, where--

Where--

\------

Goodnight tips his head up at the sky, feels his horse moving beneath him as it canters in a circle, waiting, just like Billy had been--dear Billy, with his fingers curled in the collar of Goodnight's shirt, his eyes on him, silent, but waiting.

_Ah, Robicheoux, you fool._

He laughs, the sound weak even to his own ears. Tugs at the reins, and makes his way back, the sun of dawn rising against his back.

**Author's Note:**

> this did not turn out the way I planned for it to, I'm sorry. Also, I couldn't tell if he said owls, or hounds, or hell, so I'm going with hounds for the time being.


End file.
